Trudging

The darkness dances before my eyes,
and here I am,
exhausted by my fallen ways.

I'm tired. I'm tired of me. And of the fight to lose my old ways. Because it never seems to work. Will I ever win? Maybe I would feel hope if I just experienced a victory every once in a while. I'm stuck in the mud, the trenches, and no matter how many times I wash myself, I can't seem to get myself clean. The dirt is a part of me, ground into my palms and cheeks and tongue, and I can't escape it.

Yet, as I fall down into this deep misery, I see a faint glimmer again. And I remember the truth: that I can never wash myself clean.

It's the blood of the Lamb that makes me new.

And becoming holy is not measured by victories.

But oh how it feels like it. I'm struggling to fight hard. I want to be different. I am so disappointed by my failure.

I guess the only thing to do is stand up, lift my head, and begin the slow journey through the thick mud. It's slow going, but it is worth it. For it's the only way to the end.